


New live history goes with me

by robotwitch



Series: Once more for the ages [30]
Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Crossover, Family Bonding, Family Fluff, Gen, matching tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-06 01:45:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17930426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotwitch/pseuds/robotwitch
Summary: The Drakes get matching tattoos.





	New live history goes with me

**Author's Note:**

> This is a crossover of Naughty Dog properties, an alternate universe where there is no Cordyceps Brain Infection outbreak and everyone lives. Both the Uncharted and The Last of Us characters are here and very much alive, (eventually) brought together through Cassie and Ellie's chance meeting at summer camp.

God, what Sam wouldn’t give for a cigarette right now.  The expedition’s wrap party inexplicably turned into a surprise party for Nathan’s fiftieth.  His birthday is still two months away.

At least it’s easy enough to slip out unnoticed.  None of the _D &F _crew ever pays Sam much mind, except to make sure he hasn’t lifted any of their artifacts – as if he would steal from his own brother.

Outside, the music is nothing more than dull thudding, practically drowned out by the lapping against the hull.

 _That can’t be good for Nathan’s hearing_ , Sam chuckles to himself.

In lieu of a cigarette, Sam chews his last piece of Nicorette.

It’s not so much the party that bothers him or even the crew’s indifference to him as much as what they’re celebrating.  Getting older.  He doesn’t want to think about how old he is now if Nathan’s joining him and Victor over the hill.

He still has so much time to make up for – so much he hasn’t done.  And every birthday, the clock just ticks louder.

Spotting him from across the deck, Cassie breaks into a sprint, “Uncle Sam!”

“Careful, kiddo!  Don’t run!”

The kid was practically born on a boat and this barge is a damn sight safer than the one _D &F Fortunes_ got its start on, but like hell, Sam’s gonna let her go overboard on his watch.

She rolls her eyes at him but slows down.  Sidling up next to him, “How come you’re not at the party?”

“Truth?”

“Truth.”

“I didn’t get your dad anything for his birthday,” he lies.

Cassie squints at him like his own personal bullshit detector – like Elena.  “But it’s not _actually_ his birthday.”

“Tell that to them,” he jerks his thumb back in the direction of the party.

Of course, he hasn’t gotten anything for Nathan.  He doesn’t think he’s gotten Nathan anything for his birthday in _years_ that wasn’t uninterrupted alone time with Elena.

Cassie looks for a split second like she’s considering it then sits down, hanging her legs over the edge and leaning against the rails.  It makes Sam nervous enough to get down to her level, so he can grab her if they’re suddenly hit by a tidal wave.

There’s not much Sam hasn’t screwed up in his life but being Cassie’s uncle has suited him just fine.  Far better than being a father in his own right would’ve.

 _There better not be any Sam Drake juniors out there_ , he prays there were no accidents.

“Guess what I’m getting dad for his birthday?” she asks suddenly.

“You’ve decided already?”

“Uncle Sully helped me pick it out!”

“Did he now?”  He tries not to sound too incredulous Victor knows what Nathan would want better than Sam does.  Or that for his fiftieth, all Victor got him was a cigar.

He could play babysitter again, but even if he doesn’t want to think about how old it makes him feel, fifty warrants something bigger.

“Yeah!  It’s this big, fancy, leather-bound copy of his favorite book!”

Sam snickers, “Nathan’s gonna have to restrain himself from writing in the margins.”

Cassie pokes him hard in the shoulder.

“Ow!  What was that for?”

“You’re being mean.”

“How is that mean?  Have you ever seen your dad not write in a book?”

But Cassie’s still pouting.  Okay, so he’s still not the greatest at this whole uncle thing either, but he’s trying damnit.  That’s gotta count for something.

Trying to cheer her up, “I think you may have bruised my tattoo.”

Her brow furrows more.

“Look.  Right there,” he rolls back the sleeve to show her.

Examining it closely, “I don’t see anything.”

“You sure?  It feels like there’ll be a bruise there in the morning.”

At last she lets out a giggle, “Guess you’re not as lucky as you thought.”

Sam thinks he’s exactly as lucky as this: surviving three shots to his stomach, taking a bullet for Nathan, _Nathan_ , having an adoring niece.  Thirteen unlucky years in prison had to balance out somewhere in his life.

Not that he’s allowed to tell her most of that yet; it's Nathan and Elena’s strictest rule regarding Cassie and the one that’s been the hardest not to break.

“Guess not,” he concedes.

“There you are!  I’ve been looking all over for you two!”

At Nathan’s voice, Sam shouts over his shoulder, “Shouldn’t you be at your own party?”

Nathan sits down on Cassie’s other side, “Nah.  It’s too loud in there.”

Cassie shoves his legs away, “Daddy, you can’t be here!  I’m helping Uncle Sam figure out what to get you for your birthday.”

He raises his brow, “You’re getting me an actual gift this year, Sam?  I thought your typical strategy was just to give me and Elena alone time?”

 _Damn, he has noticed._   And Sam always tried to play it so cool.

“Fifty’s a big year, little brother.  And I’m pretty sure I can afford something extra nice after this next gig Victor’s got lined up for me.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes, he does!  Now go!”  Cassie gives Nathan another shove, but Nathan tackles her into a hug, making her squirm and giggle simultaneously.

From behind, there’s the telltale snap of a camera.  All three of them whip around to find Elena with her phone primed for picture taking.

Elena takes so many pictures, Sam’s stopped asking to see them all, and instead made himself a ghost Instagram account.  He only follows her and the official _D &F Fortunes_ account.  It’s of little surprise when he finds the picture there later with a simple caption below.

 **[fisherfortunes]** Sic parvus magna 🌄

He sighs resigned, _At least it’s just her personal account._

For as much as Sam disassociates himself from the show to continue getting work, he won’t disassociate himself from his family.  She at least did him the favor of not tagging him.

But after a while of watching the number of likes and comments climb, Sam corners of his mouth tilt upwards.  He knows what he’s going to get Nathan for his birthday.

Sam noticed Francis Drake’s ring was missing right away.  After Nathan lifted it, there was never a time he was without it – excepting any time he was in prison.  Sam didn’t think Nathan would ever part with it, let alone wear any other.

But ring or no ring, they are Drakes; greatness exists at their very core.  And if the things they’ve done haven’t proved it yet, damnit Cassie probably will.

While Sam is fairly certain Nathan will go along with his scheme, there is one more hurdle he has to cross.

He double checks the time zone difference before calling.

Elena picks up after two rings, “Trouble reaching Nate?”

“No, actually.  I needed to talk to you.”

“Alright.  Shoot.”

“How would you feel about me taking Nathan to get a tattoo?”

Her silence is so long, Sam checks to make sure she hasn’t hung up the line.

Finally, “Depends.  What of?”

“I’m sure you’re familiar with the family motto.”

“If it’s what Nate wants, you have my permission, but I get final approval.”

Sam fist pumps the air, “Yes!  Thanks, Elena.”

Now just to convince his brother.

\----------

Reliving his adventures and misdeeds for Cassie affirms one thing to Nate: _Thus, from small beginnings, Great Things Come_.

Because Nate shouldn’t be surprised that Cassie’s capacity for understanding and forgiveness of his trespasses is equal to Elena’s.  All the same, it was a lot to tell her over the past few months.  She _really_ is the best of them.

Now Sam’s harebrained scheme can go ahead as planned.  “I’m thinking matching – same font and placement.  Something unmistakable.”

“You remember I’m on TV, right?  I’m not gonna get a huge, distracting tattoo where everyone can see it.”

“So, we’ll get tramp stamps,” Sam grins mischievously.  “No one will ever know it’s there.”

Shouting from her dark room, “That _sooo_ does _not_ have my approval.”

Calling back, “Sam’s messing with you, dear.”

“He better be.”

A Sam’s spitballing more bad ideas, Nate absently flips through mom’s journal.  He hasn’t looked through it this much since they took it back.  Without it, he couldn’t have explained any of this to Cassie; it was the beginning of everything.

He pauses where the pair of pictures have slid into the binding.  Nate lingers on them longer than any other page; especially the one of him and Sam.

It was the night that changed everything.  That they adopted Drake’s name and took up his mantle as their own.  Of course, at the time, they were too young to understand; all they wanted was a chance to prove themselves.  Stupid as it was, Nate doesn’t regret it for a second.

He puts the picture back on the page and picks up the other.  In spite of the pile of treasure he, Elena, and Sully are perched on, Nate thinks the adage: _Not all that glitters is gold_.  How could he regret anything when it led him to them?

Behind the photo, mom’s illustration on the page catches his attention: Drake’s ring.  His eye wanders between the drawing and where it lies against his chest in the old picture.

The ring was a part of his identity for so long, there was a while Nate didn’t know who he would be without it.  He doesn’t miss it exactly; he needed to let it go in order to move forward, but it was a reminder of where he started and a promise of something more.

Sam suddenly flicks him in the head, “Earth to Nathan.  Care to contribute?”

“Sorry.  What were you saying?”

“Jesus.  We’ve only been contemplating this for six years, so if you’d like to express an opinion one way or another, now would be the time.”

Nate puts the picture down and points to the illustration of the ring, “You can do what you want, but this is how I’m getting mine.”

Sam glances at the page then up at Nate, lip quirking upward, “You always were more invested in the family history than me.”

They go to the tattoo studio on his fifty-sixth birthday.  The artist nods at the designs, claiming them, “Easy enough.  Who wants to go first?”

Sam gives Nate a little shove, chuckling to himself, “It’s his first time.”

“Would you quit it?”

Despite Sam’s teasing, Nate’s a little relieved to go first.  He hasn’t wanted to bolt in years, but if he had to wait in that lobby and listen to the sound of the needle, he just might have.  But once the stencil is in place, his nerves calm.

“Ready?” the artist asked poised to begin.

He’s done far scarier things than this, “Ready.”

Nate watches the ink sink into his skin with great interest.  The humming of the tattoo machine is almost soothing by the time the artist has finished.

It feels right and natural to have the words on his arm; he has carried them with him for most of his life and now he will wear them on his sleeve forever.

While his took practically no time at all, it feels as though he’s waiting for Sam for two hours.  He knows Sam was dead set on something completely ostentatious, but the final design must have  absolutely ridiculous to be taking this long.

Sam comes back out with a wrap around his shoulder blade, making it awkward for him to dig his wallet out of his pocket.  Nate can only partially see the words from under Sam’s tank top but shakes his head incredulously.

“Are you serious?  That’s the font you went with?”

“Got a problem with it, Nathan?”

“It’s just the Gothic font doesn’t exactly scream Elizabethan explorer.”

Sam sighs exasperatedly, “You want me to pay for yours or not?”

“I mean, it’s not like you _need_ to.  But it _is_ my birthday.”

He rolls his eyes at Nate but pays anyway.

Back at the house, Nate peels away the wrap, letting Elena and Cassie get their first good look at the tattoo.

Though it’s still a little sore, Nate lets Cassie lightly run her finger along it as if absorbing its meaning.  Her concentration reminds him so vividly of Elena examining Drake’s ring for the first time.  Only Nate won’t let this come between him and them.

The tattoo means something entirely different to him than the ring did.  He’s not trying to live up to Francis Drake anymore.  He’s found his own greatness and he’s sticking with it.

Cassie looks him dead in the eye, “Are you going to start getting all sorts of weird tattoos now?”

Nate laughs heartily, “Aren’t I already the ‘cool dad’ among all your friends?”

She sticks out her tongue.  “You wish.”

Despite the deflection, Nate doesn’t think he will get any others.  He’s seen Sam’s tattoos and there are just some commitments he’s still not sure he’s willing to make.

“I thought you weren’t going to put it somewhere it would be seen on camera,” Elena muses.

Nate just shrugs.

He and Cassie help Sam uncover his latest tattoo an hour or so later.  It’s even more gaudy that Nate could have guessed, but then Sam’s never been very good at subtle.

Sam needs a mirror in order to see it for himself, “Not bad.”

But when Cassie starts chuckling, so does Nate.  He can tell Sam’s on the verge of calling them both ‘assholes’ but thinks better of it, if only because of Cassie.

After dinner, Nate finds Sam on the deck watching the sunset over the water.  Nate hands him a fresh beer, but Sam doesn’t drink right away.

Pondering aloud, “Have you ever thought about where we might’ve ended up?”

“You mean where Samuel and Nathan Morgan might’ve ended up?”

“Yeah.”

Nate shakes his head, “Honestly?  Not once.”

Their lives would’ve had to have gone extremely differently for him to wish for that life back.

“Yeah, me neither.  Not even in prison and I did a lot of thinking about where my life went so wrong as to wind up there.”

There’s not much Nate can say in response, but he places a hand on Sam’s new tattoo and offers, “We chose this.  I don’t think we would’ve if it wasn’t what we were meant for.”

Sam holds his bottle out, “Sic parvus magna.”

“Sic parvus magna.”

The bottles clink together with certainty.

\----------

So long as Cassie’s known her, Ellie’s never left her arms uncovered.  Even on the hottest days, she’d wear an open flannel over her tank top.

The t-shirts and rolled sleeves are as new to Ellie as the tattoo.  But then Cassie can barely see the old scar beneath it, so it must be serving its purpose.

They share a beer.  Well, Ellie drinks; Cassie has the occasional sip as she admires the tattoo.

“It’s beautiful.  Even better in person than your pictures.”

“It’s impossible to get a good shot at this angle.”

She lets Cassie trace the lines of the moth and ferns, the same as she’s done to dad and Sam’s tattoos.  Even as a baby, she was fascinated by the birds on Sam’s neck; he would jokingly tease her it was like torture, but never forbade her from poking at them.

Curious, “Did it hurt?”

“Not too bad,” Ellie shrugs.  “But totally worth it.”

Cassie sighs longingly.  Despite how much she’s thought about her own tattoo, she can’t settle on what.  She wishes she had any of dad’s talent for art, then maybe she could design her own, but even her stick figures are hopeless.

“Did you draw this yourself?”

Ellie snorts, “Are you kidding?  I can’t draw for shit.  No, I met the artist ahead of time and she just understood what I wanted.”

Ellie says ‘wanted’ but Cassie hears ‘needed’.  Not that Ellie’s shy or unconfident, but she’s way more at peace with herself now than when Cassie first met her.

“That’s so great, Ellie,” Cassie smiles.  Then wrinkles her nose, “I don’t know if I could trust someone to do that.”

Putting the bottle to her lips, Ellie taunts, “Yeah, you might wind up with something as bad as your uncle’s tattoos.”

Cassie chuckles, but speaking of the devil, Sam traipses through the front door.  His fraying tank top, revealing the ‘lucky’ tattoo in all its glory, while all the others are only half visible.

Heading straight for the fridge, “You two didn’t drink all the beer, did you?”

Unabashedly, Ellie takes another swig.

“I think there’s more in the office, Sam,”

“Thanks, Cass,” he annoyingly ruffles her hair.

As the door shuts behind him, Cassie’s gaze can’t help but wander to his shoulder where the last half of the family motto peaks out from under his shirt.

Next to the ‘lucky’ tattoo, it’s pretty much the ugliest one he has.  Thankfully, dad didn’t pick anything nearly as ostentatious, even if his tiny tattoo did manage to cause the internet to have a minor meltdown.

But regardless, dad and Sam built their lives on the promise of those words; the motto might as well be carved into their hearts.  They can translate it into multiple languages, as well as Morse Code, and probably smoke signals; it’s only fitting that it’s written in ink on their bodies.

Cassie won’t claim she has as far to climb as dad or Sam, but the words cling to her ribs just as tightly.  She’ll never stop striving for her own greatness.

Just like that, she knows what tattoo she wants; she is a Drake after all.

Reaching for the bottle, “When I’m in Colorado this fall, would you take me to your artist?”

Ellie grins, “A bit late to be starting your teenage rebellion.”

“Shut up,” Cassie rolls her eyes.  “I don’t think my parents would really mind if I got a tattoo.  My grandparents, maybe.”

Grandma, in particular, was not keen on dad following Sam’s example.  But then she’s never been fond of anything Sam’s done, not that she knows the half of it.

Taking the bottle back, “I would, but you need guardian consent if you’re under eighteen.  Or you could go to whatever seedy place he does.”  Ellie’s head jerks toward the door.

“Shit.  I’ve got another month before I can go by myself – wait.  How’d you convince Joel to let you get a tattoo?”

“I didn’t,” Ellie grimaces.

Daring to ask, “How mad was he?”

“He did that thing where he talks even less for a few days.”

It’s difficult to imagine Joel as more uncommunicative than he already is, but then Cassie also doesn’t understand why he’d be so upset.  Anyone could see how insecure Ellie was about the scar.

“God, that sucks.”

“I know, right?  I even saved my own money for this.  But he came around when Sarah told him to suck it up.  I think he was more mad that I went behind his back than anything else.”

That makes more sense and Cassie’s glad Ellie had Sarah to stick up for her, but she’s convinced now she can’t get a tattoo without mom and dad’s approval.

Besides, she really shouldn’t get a tattoo of the family motto without dad and Sam’s blessing – not that they would ever deny her claim to it.

It doesn’t stop Sam from teasing she’s only half-Drake when she asks; she bites back the retort that none of them are _true_ Drakes.

“You’re sure this is what you want for your birthday?” mom double-checks.

“Yeah, and I want it before I turn eighteen, so one of you is required to sign it.”

Mom glances at dad, who shrugs, “Don’t look at me.  Sam got your permission before forcing me to get mine.”

“Speaking of which, this one’s on me, Cassie,” Sam speaks up.

“I thought I was only ‘half-Drake’.”

“Let your delinquent uncle have this one bad influence.”

And just like that, it’s all settled.  Cassie books her own consultation, but dad and Sam come with her for the actual appointment.

Dad grins as he signs on the line below her, “So where’re you thinking?  Arm?  Leg?  Cassie, please tell me I didn’t just given you permission to get a tramp stamp.”

“Eww, dad.  No.  As if I would shame our ancestor like that.”

Sam snickers behind them, his wallet bulging with one-hundred-dollar bills.  Neither Cassie nor dad think it’s wise to ask where it came from.

Dad pats her shoulder, “That’s my girl.”

The artist places the stencil on her foot then twists her leg into an awkward position.  She checks in one last time before putting the needle to skin, “You ready?”

Cassie inhales deeply, “Go for it.”

In all honestly, Ellie was right.  It doesn’t hurt _that_ bad, though it is uncomfortable to be in this position, even if it only takes an hour.

Stepping out of the back room, Cassie’s glad it’s the middle of summer.  Even though she’s supposed to avoid too much direct sunlight, at least she can wear flip-flops as it heals.

As Sam pays, he tells the artist to keep the change.  Cassie has no idea how much extra he gives her, but with Sam it’s always better not to ask.

Dad gives her a little squeeze, “How’s it feel to be an official Drake?”

“Fisher-Drake,” Cassie corrects him, pointing down to the family-crest stylized kingfisher beside the familiar words under the temporary wrap.

Chuckling, dad kisses the side of her head.  Cassie can’t wait to show mom.


End file.
